Chapter 25
Gabriel showed up at Sorcha’s after the mayhem of guising had passed, and now everything seemed almost too quiet.
The streets of town had slowly emptied of witches, skeletons, and miniature vampires, their plastic pumpkins full and their voices hoarse from songs and knock-knock jokes.
The chaos was over, and the farmhouse dark, apart from a lonely carved pumpkin glowing in the window. By now, niece and nephews would be flopped on their beds upstairs, high on sugar and low on stamina.
He let himself in, the house unusually still.
Sorcha was exactly where he knew she’d be – in the kitchen.
But for once, she was alone. No little ones clamouring for snacks, no tweens raiding the fridge, no one spilling juice or asking for batteries.
Just her. Sitting quietly at the table, lit by the warm amber of the old corner lamp.
The radio played some gentle folk song in the background, so soft it was more atmosphere than sound.
She hadn’t heard him come in.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Gabriel said gently.
She jumped, clutching her chest. “Jesus Christ!” Then, covering her mouth, she added quickly, “Oh biscuits, Gabe.”
He grinned. It was one of his favourite things about her. Her attempts not to swear. She’d always been determined to raise polite children, though most of them had heard worse from her during bath time.
“You knew I was coming,” Gabriel said padding over to the sink in his socks. “You invited me, remember?”
“Yeah, yeah, I just didn’t think you’d sneak in like a ghost.”
His boots were at the door, caked in blackened muck from the hillside. He could still smell the smoke in his hair.
“Bonfire?” she asked, clocking the state of him.
Gabriel let out a dry laugh as he filled a glass of water. “Aye. You’d think a firepit in someone’s garden wouldn’t end in a call-out.”
She raised a brow. “Let me guess, whisky and poor judgement?”
“Close. Petrol and a hero complex. Some numpty thought the flames were ‘dying down too quick’. One swoosh and whoosh later and he nearly lost his eyebrows. Toasted half the trellis and singed his nan’s begonias.”
Sorcha winced, half laughing. “Only in Rock Cove.”
“Only in Rock Cove,” he agreed.
He sat across from her, the quiet between them easy. He noticed she hadn’t touched her tea, the steam long gone. Her eyes were a little far off, like they were replaying the whole evening in her head.
“You alright?” he asked after a moment.
She nodded. “Just … taking it all in. You know how it is. All that noise, and then suddenly it’s … nothing. Like someone pulled the plug.”
He understood that feeling. The sudden vacuum after a shift, after the adrenaline ebbs and the world catches its breath again.
“It’s a nice nothing,” he said quietly.
The lamp buzzed gently in the corner. The fridge hummed its familiar rhythm. Upstairs, one of the children shifted in bed, a door creaked, and the old bones of the house sighed as it settled.
He glanced back at his sister. There was something in her expression – distant, thoughtful. Something he couldn’t quite reach.
“You sure everything’s alright?” he asked again, more gently this time.
Sorcha paused. Then nodded. But it was slower now, less sure. “Just … missing Mum, I think,” she said quietly. “She loved Halloween. Used to drive us round in the car, remember? House to house, stopping at every single one.”
“Yeah,” Gabriel said with a soft smile. “Only she’d end up going in for a cuppa half the time. We’d be itching to get to the next house, and she’d be planted on someone’s couch, yapping away.”
Sorcha laughed, the sound short and fond. “She did love a blether.”
“That’s the understatement of the century.”
Her smile lingered as she lowered her gaze, her fingers smoothing absentmindedly across the worn table. “Lately … I think about her more and more. She wasn’t there for any of the births, you know? None of the chaos or the joy. Just this … absence. And I know it’s been years but …”
She stopped. Her voice caught. He saw it then – the lift of her shoulders, the way she braced as if holding something in.
“It’s okay, sis,” he said softly, reaching across to take her hand. He squeezed it gently. “You don’t need to be strong every single second.”
She nodded, laughed once, and then burst into tears.
He didn’t say anything. Just let her cry.
After a moment, she sniffed and stood abruptly, wiping at her face with the sleeve of her cardigan. Gabriel stayed seated, watching as she moved to a tall pine dresser in the corner, rifling through one of the drawers. She pulled out an old photo, creased at the edges, the colours slightly faded.
Their parents. Their dad with his arm slung around their mum, both of them laughing at something just out of frame. There was joy in the picture, a lightness.
Gabriel smiled softly. “I always loved that one.”
Sorcha nodded, holding it in both hands like it might break. Then she turned, clutching a pair of wax candles in her other hand.
“This why you asked me over?” Gabriel teased. “Need a trained professional for a candle-lighting?”
“Oh, very funny.” She gave him a look. “I just … I wanted to acknowledge them tonight. You know, really acknowledge the dead. Not just the silly costumes and buckets of sweets.”
He understood. Of course he did.
Together, they cleared a small space on the sideboard. Sorcha set the photo down and lit the candles carefully, one by one, the flames flickering to life and casting a warm, golden glow across their parents’ faces.
He wondered what Erica would make of this, of them honouring the dead properly.
Gabriel reached into the cupboard and pulled down two tumblers, then collected the bottle of whisky from beside the bread bin. He poured them each a modest dram.
“To Mum and Dad,” he said.
Sorcha raised her glass. “Mum and Dad.”
They drank in silence, the candles dancing gently between them.
Gabriel leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out beneath the table. He noticed for the first time tonight that Kenny hadn’t been around. Likely off doing something farm-related or tucked up for an early night, as he often was.
He’d known Kenny more than ten years now, and still they’d never quite clicked. Not in the way he’d once imagined they might.
Kenny was kind, inoffensive even, but distant.
Always distracted. He had a knack for finding an exit whenever conversation started to stray deeper than surface-level.
Gabriel had once chalked it up to nerves, or maybe shyness.
Perhaps it was the closeness between him and Sorcha that made Kenny uncomfortable.
Whatever the reason, it remained unspoken.
Sorcha didn’t seem to mind or notice, really.
She was always busy: children, chores, the constant cycle of a household.
But Gabriel … he wanted more than that kind of partnership. He always had.
He didn’t want a quiet agreement of a life. He wanted someone who reached for him first. Someone who chose him without hesitation.
He’d thought he’d found that once.
But of course, he’d been wrong.
The unease had been there from the start. And sure enough, she’d ended things before he ever had the guts to admit what wasn’t working.
And now? Didn’t he feel a different pull?
Sorcha was watching him now, her glass tilted near her lips. “Are you alright?”
He blinked. “Me? I’m good. I guess it’s just this time of year. Makes you take stock, doesn’t it? Think about things.”
“And?” she asked softly.
He shrugged. “Of course things could always be better, but … I’m happy.”
“Are you, Gabriel?” she said gently. “Because I do worry about you sometimes.”
He tilted his head, a wry smile forming. “What for?”
“I’m your sister,” she said simply. “I’m allowed to worry. You don’t have a … wifey waiting at home. And I know you like to pretend that doesn’t bother you, but—”
“Ah, here we go,” he groaned. “Don’t get all deep on me tonight. You’ve had too much whisky and you’re getting sentimental.”
“Maybe I am. But I still mean it. We’re your family. And I’ll always be here for you, you know that?”
He laughed, shaking his head. “Jeez, Sorc. Honestly, I’m fine. Really. I love my job, I’ve got my home, Dad’s cottage, and the sheep too. I’ve friends …”
She did something with her eyes – subtle, but he caught it.
“Your friend,” she said, almost too casually. “The new friend in the cottage. How’s she doing?”
He narrowed his eyes. “I mean … I think she’s good.”
Sorcha let out an exaggerated laugh. “You think she’s good? Gabriel McTavish, you’re a devil. I’ve heard you’ve been seen up that hill plenty. Folk in town say you two are inseparable.”
“We’re not inseparable. And she has a name. Erica,” he muttered, more firmly than he'd meant.
“Oh Erica. Very fancy!” she teased, clearly enjoying herself.
He sighed. “Look, we’re just … enjoying each other’s company. She’s my tenant. I’ve been helping with bits around the cottage, it still needs work. And turns out, she’s trying to do something good for the area.”
“Oh aye? Like what?” Sorcha snorted. “Fix the disaster of a playground? You know the one where the slide’s older than you and half the swings are rusted to death? Meanwhile the golf courses are so pristine, looks like the king’s due any minute!”
Gabriel smirked. “You really need to mind those anger issues.”
She nudged him under the table. “So what’s this big town-saving mission, that this Erica is doing?”
“She’s researching the accused witches.”
Sorcha choked on her sip of whisky. “I’m sorry – what?”
“I’m being serious,” Gabriel said, sitting up straighter. “She’s digging into the history. The women who were accused, the stories no one talks about anymore.”
“Witches?” Sorcha blinked. “Like broomsticks and black cats?”
“No,” he said, wearily. “Like real women. The ones no one bothered to remember. It’s not some silly hobby, she’s trying to give them names again. Restore a bit of dignity.”
Sorcha eyed him, the teasing gone now, replaced by something quieter. “You really believe in what she’s doing.”
He stood, gathering his empty glass and hers. “I’m too knackered for all this,” he said, heading to the sink. “I need a shower and about ten hours of sleep.”
“Fair enough,” she said, her voice softening. “Night, Gabe.”
“Night, Sorc.”
He left her at the table, the candle flames still flickering, casting gentle shadows across their parents’ smiling faces.
Outside, the night was dark and cold. He pulled on his jacket, zipped it up to his chin, and stepped out into the quiet. The stars high and still above him.
He stood for a moment in the cold, breath misting in front of him, the night pressing close. He found his thoughts drifting – inevitably – back to Erica.
How quick he’d been to snap at Sorcha. How oddly protective he felt. Maybe too protective. Too sensitive.
And he had to ask himself, not for the first time, why did it matter so much?
And why did she?